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Anyone for Lust?
Tom Bussmann ponders the precise difference between men and women when it comes to lust.
One's first waking thought is symbolised, so to speak, by the rising sun. Was it not the great hermit philosopher, Hermann, who spoke for all mankind when he said, "Woke up this morning, feeling fine. Had something special on my mind." But what wistful fantasy, do you suppose, is being played out behind the firmly closed eyelids of your lovely but inert companion?
There's only one way to find out and this is not by a series of increasingly unsubtle nudges not employing an elbow. In keeping with modern research techniques, I constituted a representative focus group and asked her directly which, hand on heart, she would prefer first thing in the morning: hot passionate steaming tea, or sex?
As I waited in the cold kitchen for the kettle to boil, I pondered what I had learnt. On the face of it, women and men seem to have their body clocks set twelve hours apart. I can tell you that in some twelve hours time, the following scenario will be played out. My personal focus group will put down her mug of Horlicks, and turn to my end of the sofa with a significant glance of pure smouldering lust.
I will respond by running my hand smoothly, caressingly, across the cushions and behind the sensitive small of her back to retrieve the remote control. I mean, I wouldn't want to miss any post-watershed televised ruderies. After barely forty minutes concentrated channel surfing, I turn back to give her a nod and a smile, as one does, only to find she has been replaced with a dent in the upholstery. Ah well. Time to conclude the ritual. I apply the Breathe-Easy Anti-Snore strip and retire for the night.
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